


Penance

by lickitysplit



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Demon Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickitysplit/pseuds/lickitysplit
Summary: Your relationship with Credo has taken a sudden change now that he has risen to the top ranks of the Order. His new colder demeanor sets off an argument that ends with you offering your penance for defying your master.
Relationships: Credo (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic came about from a conversation that happened in the server for the SSS Zine. You can imagine what sort of topics come up in a NSFW zine server, and let's say that we have a joke about what happens when the writers show up... lol.
> 
> This is dedicated to the awesome writers for the zine and their amazing talent! If you want to check them out or get more info on this smokin' sexy project, check out the zine Tumblr linked in my bio. 
> 
> This is currently a oneshot; however if enough people like it and want more I'm happy to write another part or more! So please feel free to let me know what you thought and I'll write more with Credo and this reader. Special thanks to Solynacea for reading this over.

It’s cliche, you know this. Sleeping with your supervisor, the whole boss slash secretary thing. It’s an old cliche, and not even a good one, more suited for those paperback books that would get passed around the girls’ dormitory in school. But it happened, and then happened again, and continues to happen often enough that you’ve started to feel more than just attraction to the High Commander.

Credo has changed, however, especially after his parents died and he assumed charge of both the Holy Knights and his younger sister. He is tenser now, more focused, more drawn. Where Credo would talk freely with you before—after all, your friendly and flirtatious banter is what got you into this situation in the first place—now his orders are curt and precise, like everything else in his life. It’s only gotten worse since the latest attack by the demons, and his sister was put at risk, two of his men dying while protecting her.

He wears the same grave expression that is his new default when you enter his office. You push the door shut with a firm click and walk to the desk that is covered in maps and papers, several books propped together with notes bookmarking sections. Credo looks up from his writing with a frown and puts down his pen. “What do you need?” he asks.

“Just bringing you something.” You set the tray down on a side table and busy yourself lifting lids from the steaming plates and pouring a cup of coffee. “It’s well past dinner time,” you explain. “I figured you would be hungry and—”

You are cut off with two hands on your hips, and Credo yanks you back against him. “You should have asked,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Just so you could refuse?” You turn to face him, and his hands slide around your waist. “Will you eat something?”

Credo shakes his head. “I’m not hungry. You can take it with you when you go.”

He releases you and walks back behind his desk, and you frown in disappointment. “That’s it? Can I at least help you?”

“No.” He doesn’t bother to look up, taking his seat and picking up the pen. 

Several moments tick by as you stare at him, your heart pounding. This dismissiveness is also new, a cruel side to him that never existed before. You should do what he says, but a defiant streak flares suddenly, and you toss the napkin in your hand to the tray. “I’m not leaving until you eat something,” you snap.

You fold your arms when Credo smirks at his papers. “Suit yourself. You’ll be standing there a while then.”

Something about his tone sets you off. You snatch up a dinner roll from the tray and throw it at him, huffing in triumph when it smacks him on the temple. “Fine!” you shout, and when his head snaps up, you turn and stalk towards the door.

You yank the door open but it slams shut immediately. Credo is behind you, and you feel his hard body press against yours, pushing you against the door. You squirm a bit, testing him, but he is immovable, his hands pressed to the wood on either side of your head. “Turn around,” he orders.

That voice is the one he uses with his men, especially the young ones who are new recruits for the Order. You have heard it a thousand times, but never directed at you; slowly you turn and face him, pressing back against the solid oak as he leans closer. “You have attacked an officer of the court.”

Credo’s tone is all business, but you can’t help the nervous laughter that escapes you. “Attacked?” you echo, your voice a tiny bit shrill. “Is that what you called it?”

“Launching a projectile at my head—”

“It was  _ bread _ for goodness’ sake—”

“These are not the actions of a woman of the Order  _ or _ my assistant!” he hisses. 

You are taken aback, your hands spreading against the door as you try to shrink away. “I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Sorry what?”

Swallowing thickly, you answer, “Sorry, Sir.”

Credo’s eyes travel your face. “That’s better,” he says quietly. 

With a nod you gaze back at him. Obviously he is angry, but why? Your little outburst seems to be outpaced by his reaction, and the minutes tick by as you wait for him to dismiss you. But Credo seems content to examine you closely, and you watch as his gaze turns downwards. “May I go, Sir?” you ask.

“No,” answers Credo. His eyes dart up to yours. “We are here to serve the Order. Have you forgotten that?”

“No, Sir.”

“And whom does the Order serve?”

You clear your throat before answering, “The Savior.”

“Exactly. The Savior, our Great Deliverer, our Protector. The one whose light shines on us all.” Credo tilts his head. “What do you suppose the Savior would think of someone who threatens one of his chosen officers?”

Shaking your head, your eyes blink rapidly. “I… I don’t…”

You jump when you feel his touch against your jaw. “He would be displeased, as am I. I think some penance is in order, don’t you?”

There is something in the way he looks at you that has you captured. This is a new Credo, a blend of the passionate man you had known and the demanding captain he is now. The idea of  _ penance _ makes your heart skip, and when he eases back slightly you take in a deep breath, finding it easier to breathe without your bodies touching.

“Down on your knees,” he says.

Your breath catches in your throat as you immediately obey, sinking to the floor, your eyes locked onto his. Your heart starts to pound as you watch him open his belt. “You need to pray for forgiveness,” Credo continues.

“Forgive me, Sir,” you answer. 

“Forgive you?” His tone is almost teasing now, and your gaze drops to where his hand reaches into the front of his pants. You can see the hint of dark, reddish hair just below the hem of his shirt, the trail that you know well, and you swallow around a dry throat. “Forgive you for what?”

“Um…” You lick your lips unconsciously as his hand moves, hidden by the fabric. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? But like this? “Forgive me for my insolence, Sir,” you stammer.

“Hmmm.” His free hand slides into your hair and you shiver in response. The hand moves to cup your cheek, and your lips part when his thumb brushes against them. “Pray to Sparda, our Savior.”

“Forgive me, o Savior,” you murmur as you close your eyes. His fingers caress your cheek and you fight the urge to press a kiss to his palm. “I live to serve you. I want to… to obey…”

Your words are cut off when something presses to your mouth, and immediately you open. The slick head of his cock slides between your lips, and you let go a groan as your jaw goes slack to accommodate him. Your body responds at once, the tight suspense at this game or confession or whatever it is melting into an ache inside you for more. Playing the obedient servant had never been an attractive idea before; you always liked how Credo treated you as an equal despite his station, and your work and banter and even lovemaking reflected that his desire and eagerness matched yours.

But now that he has taken control—or rather, wrenched it from you—you embrace it, sinking into his command the way you’ve seen countless knights do at his word. And it is  _ freeing _ to give in to him, to kneel and take his cock so willingly, as if the act was obeying Sparda himself. You choke slightly when he thrusts deep into your throat, but hold steady, determined to do this for him. Credo is not just your lover, but your master, and you realize all this time you’ve just been waiting to be possessed by him.

His cock is thick and hard as rock as it slides in and out of your mouth. Your eyes remain closed so you can focus, swallowing tightly around him at each pass, eagerly working your throat as his arousal drips from the tip. You work to take him without complaint or even moving much at all, the feel of his palm on your head guiding you steadily all you need as the deep desire to please him at any cost flares hot inside you. You want to be consumed by it, to give everything you can to it, and with a groan you reach up and grab his hips, leaning forward to swallow him as you tilt your head for more.

Credo grips your hair and tugs you back gently. His cock falls from your mouth, the two connected with a thin strip of saliva for just a moment before it breaks on your chin. You blink up at him in surprise, your mouth still open and waiting, and he smiles as his hand brushes over your swollen lips. “Eager girl,” he praises, and it makes you shiver in delight.

“Sir…?” you whisper.

“You came here to feed me and here I am feeding you,” he chuckles. 

He rests the hard length against your lips, and you sigh, pressing a kiss against the underside. But then Credo moves back, and you sag a bit, watching him in confusion. “Stand up,” he orders.

Again you scramble to obey, and when he jerks his head to the side, you follow his unspoken command and step towards his desk. Credo’s hands are on you in an instant, positioning you against the side, his hips firm against your backside as he presses you against the edge.

His lips are hot against your neck as he starts to unbutton your dress. Once the line of buttons along your spine is undone he pulls the seams apart, as if unwrapping you like a present. His mouth moves to your shoulder as he peels the dress down your arms while you lift them to assist; once the dress is hanging at your hips he quickly unhooks your bra and yanks it away, tossing it into the room.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his hands roam your body, leaving fiery trails with his fingertips along your stomach and up to your chest. His mouth returns to the crook of your neck, sucking on the skin as he grabs your breasts, squeezing them possessively. You reach back to grip his hips, arching into his touch as best as you can, but his solid body has yours practically trapped. The strength in his arms far outmatches yours, and you remain helpless against him as he touches you at his leisure, teasing your nipples into stiff buds and grazing the skin of your twitching stomach.

Credo lets your neck go with a loud smack of his lips. “This is much better,” he says into your ear. Slowly he grinds his hips forward, and you feel the hard outline of his cock press to your backside, rubbing against the fabric. “Don’t you agree?”

“Y-yes,” you answer.

You bite your lip as he flicks your nipples. “You are here to serve me as I serve His Holiness, and in turn, we both serve our Lord and Savior Sparda.” His teeth catch your earlobe with a sharp bite. “Everything we do is for his glory, don’t you agree?”

His hands knead your body, the sensations lulling you under a thick shroud of desire. The lips on your cheek and the hands that tease your breasts and the hard length that prods you through the fabric work together to have your head spinning, and the only thing you are aware of is the growing throb between your legs. Your head rolls to the side as you squirm a bit, rolling your hips to press to his, and Credo rewards you with a sharp slap across your breasts. “Answer.”

“Yes!” He mouths at your neck as his hands caress you, soothing the sting from his slap. 

You rub your thighs together, your mind feeling dull and heavy. The Credo you’ve known, who you have been sleeping with for weeks, would never be so aggressive. He has always been a gentleman, sometimes fierce in his passion but always with his eyes and hands and mouth for you. But this one takes his pleasure as he wants, stroking you until you feel as though you’ll go mad. Your pelvis rocks against the edge of the desk, the friction you are craving dampened by the layers of fabric between your body and the hard surface. It only acts to tease you more as Credo humps against you.

You are debating asking for more when his hands finally move downwards. They slip into the dress that hangs on your hips, one reaching between your legs. He hisses when he cups your sex, his fingertips pushing easily inside the folds that are soaked from your arousal. You bite your lip and whimper, wanting nothing more than to spread your legs and rock against whatever part of him he wants to put between your thighs, but his solid form keeps you from moving any more than a little wiggle against him.

“So wet,” he sighs against your ear. Credo rubs slowly against your hood, and your mouth falls open, trying to tilt your hips up to give him more. “Will you obey me?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Will you give yourself in service to our Savior?”

Your head drops forward. “Yes,” you groan.

Credo eases back, his hand still between your legs. “Take the rest off,” he says, sharp and direct.

His words are not to be questioned, not that that would even be possible now. Quickly you shimmy out of the rest of the dress, twisting your hips as you pull everything down your legs and step out, your body now completely bare. Credo cradles you against him, and you can feel the soft fabric of his shirt and the cold metal of the buttons and the slight scratch of his slacks. Having him still fully clothed while you are naked and trembling makes you all the more aware of how much you have given up at this moment. But how can you even begin to care, when all you want is release at his hand?

“Lean forward.”

You obey without question. Your palms lay flat against the wood surface as your breasts flatten beneath you. You keep your eyes ahead, wishing there was a mirror or something so you could see his expression. Is he pleased? You can hear him shift behind you and your eyes close briefly. When did you start to care so much? You have wanted Credo for months now and had him already a dozen times. Why is it different _now?_

He spreads your thighs and you groan when you feel the head of his cock slide along your folds. “Time for your penance,” Credo says with a growl.

“Please…”

“Do not come.”

“What?” you gasp, turning around.

His hand is firm as it pushes you forward, and when you are bent once more he wraps your hair slowly around his fist, pulling it tight. “You are here to please me, in order to please Sparda. So you will serve me, but you will not take pleasure from it. Serving me  _ is _ your pleasure, do you understand?”

His cock dips in and out of your opening, teasing the nerve endings that are pulsing for more. The way you are angled, all you need to do is rock forward just an inch to find a bit of the surface to grind against. Just a tiny bit of friction from his cock and some pressure on your hood and you’ll be there, giving yourself over to ecstasy. But you nod, heat flaring along your neck and face. “Yes,” you moan.

Credo keeps a fierce grip on your hair as he enters you. He pulls the strands to tug your head back, the sharp twinge of your roots mixing with a twisting pleasure at being finally filled. Your body is so wet now that he has no trouble driving into you, and when his hips smack against your backside, your mouth falls open in a silent cry. How are you going to do this?

His free hand traces your hip, rubbing possessively. Pinned in place, trapped between his body and the desk and held at an angle by your hair, you can only wait as he slowly pumps his hips. “You feel so good,” he groans, and your breath falters at the tone in his voice. It is almost your undoing, your hands curling into tight fists when he groans again. “You are my reward for doing Sparda’s work.”

Grabbing your hip, Credo slowly moves. The drag of his cock is torture, every inch of him rubbing deliciously inside your tunnel. Unable to move, you tense as he works, trying to hold onto your last scraps of control. It’s almost enough, just a bit more and you’ll have the release your body cries out for. All he has to do is move just a bit faster to create more friction, or give your hair a bit of slack so you can angle your sex correctly against the wood, and you’ll be there.

But this is your penance, and he does none of those things. Instead he uses your body as he pleases, pumping with sharp, deliberate thrusts that have you nearly on tiptoes. His hands are tight and punishing as they hold you in place, and you have no choice but to take it and endure. Despite the lack of pressure on the right spots, you can feel an orgasm brewing, just beyond your reach; but if you focus on him and his body, how his breathing grows heavier as he fucks you, how he tasted in your mouth as he made you kneel, then maybe, just maybe…

His hand cracks against your backside. “Don’t come,” he says harshly. Credo leans over you, the fist in your hair pulling you back even farther as his chest presses to your back, his other hand pressing to the desk for leverage. He begins to thrust hard and fast, ravaging you with a savagery you would have never imagined him capable of; but you welcome it, crave it, and you match his groans with your own gasps, tilting your hips as best you can to let him delve deeper and deeper.

You hear him gasp, and the hand in your hair goes slack. Credo grips you by the neck, pulling your head up sharply as his mouth covers yours. Then he kisses you hotly as you feel him shake and his thick seed spilling inside your body. It makes the pumping of his cock slippery, your core on fire from need and sensitive to the new sensations.

As the last of his orgasm fills you, he pulls from the kiss. You are so close you can taste it, and when his mouth leaves yours you decide to beg for release, or perhaps just take it for yourself, damn the consequences. Surely this is just some byproduct of stress, and now that Credo has let off some steam he will reward you with the orgasm you so desperately need. 

You open your eyes with his name on your lips, but gasp when you see something has changed. His eyes are no longer the light green, almost amber color you know well. Instead they burn with a bright red glow, and his lips curl back over teeth that look sharper, his face paler than normal. Credo pulls himself back, pushing you back down with a palm between your shoulder blades, and you cry out when he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and aching on the desk. Shock has doused the urgency of your need, leaving you empty and overly sensitive, the sensation like a crawling on your skin as you feel his pleasure dripping on your thighs.

“You fulfilled your duty,” he says. His voice is cool and unimpressed, but you can hear a slight timbre to it that gives away how affected he truly is. You want to ask why he did that, what changed, why were his eyes red? But you lay against the wood, waiting for your legs to stop shaking, not trusting your voice just yet.

You watch as he takes his chair and begins cleaning up his documents. After a minute you feel well enough to speak, so you gather your courage as you tentatively push yourself to stand. “Credo?” you whisper.

He looks up, and you let go a sigh of relief to see that he looks like himself again. It must have just been your imagination, you decide, a side effect of the very intense intercourse after your argument. Credo smiles and holds out a hand. “My dear,” he says, pulling you towards him.

You swallow as you stand next to him. Credo turns to face you, and he looks up from his seat as his hands slide along your hips. “Did you learn something?” he asks.

Nodding, you try to find your voice. “I’m here to serve you, Sir,” you murmur.

He smiles, the first smile you’ve seen in weeks. “Good,” he replies before kissing your hand. “Service to me is service to His Holiness, and to Sparda. Remember that. Now,” he continues as you nod, “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

He pushes you back onto the desk, turning again in his chair so that he is between your legs. Credo lifts them wide and apart, and a moment later his mouth is on you, his tongue dipping inside your opening. You cry out and arch into him, your back bowing as you grip the edge of the desk. His mouth is hot and wet as it devours you, and in moments your legs are tensing and your body seems to snap as the coil inside you tightens painfully.

The pulsing starts almost immediately, contractions that start deep inside you, making your body nearly vibrate. His mouth continues its delicious assault, the bliss surging in waves that steal your breath away. Then Credo slides upwards to wrap his lips around your clit, and when he sucks gently your orgasm surges again, his mouth and tongue wicked and relentless until you are crying for him to stop.

He moves away, leaving you gasping for breath until he appears in your vision. “You are delicious,” he murmurs, and you feel his cock start to fill you again. You let go a wail as he starts to thrust, wondering how this is possible, how is he so hard again so soon?

Credo’s hands cover your chest, kneading your breasts again and pulling you back to the present. As your legs curl around him and he starts the powerful movements again, you close your eyes and turn your face away, afraid of seeing the red eyes and the savagery on his face. There are two versions of Credo now: the one that you had worked for, been falling in love with, the cool but kind knight of the Order, and this _other_ that you now serve. He is almost… _demonic,_ you think as your eyes fall on the forgotten meal, another orgasm building under his hands and mouth and body for your penance which will never be done.


End file.
